Something Damaged
by Taisi
Summary: In which Alfred stops eating, and Arthur's world falls apart. Human!AU, UKUS
1. Chapter 1

A/N: An AU I started and fell in love with. :) This will be multi-chaptered, but I'm not sure how long it'll be.

* * *

It started with an invitation to lunch. Arthur had time after his volunteer tutoring session, and he knew Alfred didn't have practice today, so he caught the tall blue-eyed boy in homeroom and asked him if he'd like to meet up around noon at the diner on the corner, just a block from the university.

"No thanks, Artie," was the laughing reply, "I'm not hungry."

Then it was their weekly date. Their schedules hardly ever matched, what with Arthur's internship and Alfred's extra-curriculars, but they always managed to set aside time together for a dinner date, and then a comfortable night alone, just the two of them.

"How about a movie instead? There's this new one coming out I really want to see, it's supposed to be super freaky, haha, but you can hold my hand if you get scared!"

It wasn't a big deal, and Arthur agreed readily enough; Alfred was such an adorable mess during horror movies, even terrible ones, and Arthur certainly wasn't opposed to having a lapful of his sweet, pretty blond, no matter what the circumstances.

But it was something he was mulling over later that night, with Alfred tucked against him under the sheets in his worn Superman pajamas, stroking the boy's su-nkissed hair. How strange it was, after all this time, to skip their dinner.

* * *

Alfred had a small apartment with his brother in a "shady" part of the city, simply because it was the best they could afford; and while they did have an impressively large, shaggy white dog fondly referred to as "Bear," Arthur felt much better on the nights he could convince Alfred to come home to his flat instead.

"I don't wanna leave Mattie there alone," he'd pouted, the first time Arthur coaxed him over; and he'd looked so tired, straight home from a double shift at the garage, with a faint smeer of oil across his forehead. "What if something happens while I'm gone?"

"What if something happens while you're there?" the British man had retorted. "No one's going to get past Bear, love, that brute's bigger than I am."

Alfred puffed out his cheeks, plopping down on the sofa. "If you really think so howcome you're so stubborn about me staying with you?" There was a definite flush to his face at this point, and Arthur smiled, crossing the room in three strides to kneel in front of him- to be close, and to see the color in Alfred's face deepen, as he took and kissed his hands.

"I will _always _be stubborn about keeping you with me."

* * *

A kiss on the cheek woke Arthur up in the morning and he mumbled, reaching out blindly to catch the American and pull him back into bed next to him where he belonged.

Alfred laughed and caught his hand, kissing the back of it with a quirky smile. "I gotta get going or I'll be late for work, sleepyhead."

_Such _a morning person. It wasn't natural. "Well hold on," Arthur sighed, sitting up and rubbing his face. "I'll make you breakfast before you go."

"No don't worry about it honey, go back to sleep." Gentle hands guided him back down and drew the blankets back up over him. "I'll be home in a few hours. Er- uh, back, I mean. I'll be back in a few hours."

Arthur smiled widely at his boyfriend's bright red face and pulled him back down for a kiss. "That's just fine."

But of course it wasn't until Alfred had left that Arthur realized he'd left without breakfast.

* * *

When he called Matthew about Alfred's strange behavior, he was hoping against hope itself that the violet-eyed twin would tell him it was all in his head.

But instead the lightly accented voice on the other end of the line was concerned. "I've noticed it too. It's such a subtle thing it's hard to confront him about it, he's like _liquid _when he wants to get out of talking about something Arthur..."

"Ah, yes, I'm well aware of that... But I suppose we can't let this continue on without knowing what exactly 'this' is, can we?"

Matthew sounded infinitely relieved. "I'm glad you think so. I just- I can't help but come up with all these worse-case scenarios."

"I'll talk to him."

_Please, god, let this not be something terrible._

* * *

"Oh, no thanks, I already ate- "

"What? I don't have time for lunch, I have to-"

"Nahhh, not hungry, a little while ago I had some-"

Arthur caught each excuse now and added it to the list, watched Alfred closely when the boy wasn't paying attention, would casually touch his wrist or his hip and _why was it so bony?_

The concern was all-consuming by the end of the week, when Alfred had agreed to sleep over after work. Arthur was making dinner, a large one, when Alfred came to the door, and almost immediately Alfred made some excuse about needing a shower since he'd been at school all day. Arthur set the table with hands that shook, and now he understood why Matthew had sounded so frightened.

When Alfred finally came out of the bathroom, looking edible with his wet hair, in a rumpled shirt only buttoned halfway, but so _pale and so thin, _and there he went, opening his mouth and sighing something about maybe skipping dinner and heading straight to bed, he was so tired.

Arthur lurched forward off the couch before he could help himself and framed the American's face in his hands, whispering, "Baby, baby, please- have you been eating at all?"

And those blue eyes were wider than the sky for a moment, before Alfred looked away.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Chapter two is here. =u= I think there might be a pattern like this; one chapter of story, the next of backstory, and so on, unless too many of you decide you don't like it. I try not to make flashbacks utterly boring, but as a forewarning, that's what this chapter is.

Almost 1000 words longer than the last chapter, too... my bad.

* * *

Arthur considered himself very lucky; Alfred was quite the catch. When it got around they were an "item," their fellow students had laughed and nudged Arthur, asking him how the hell he managed it, and to be honest he wasn't quite sure himself. He had been attracted to the boy on first sight, that was certain- and who wasn't? Fly-away blond hair, tall, well-built body, blue eyes to die for...

Even the American's racuous personality wasn't a turn-off. Up until falling (ungracefully) for Alfred, Arthur considered his type to be graceful, elegant, the perfect gentleman; but the first time Alfred glanced his way, and his mouth sloped in that sideways grin, and he reached out to shake Arthur's hand and introduce himself, his touch was like electricity. He set Arthur on _fire._

His ridiculous love of superheroes, his idealistic notions about justice and human goodness- he was like a child that grew up far too quickly without losing any of that purity or wholesomeness. He wasn't even put off by Arthur's personality, which Arthur knew was daunting for pretty much everyone, and little by little they spent more and more time together, until he was the one Alfred sat by, passed notes to, waited for outside the school every morning. It wasn't long before Arthur guarded Alfred jealously.

Oh, he really wanted to confess to him. When Alfred would beg him to come to a basketball/soccer/baseball practice and Arthur would begrudgingly (not really) agree to watch him play- praying to god the coach would call Alfred's team to be skins instead of shirts so he could watch those muscles ripple as the America stripped off his jersey, stuttering when Alfred would see him in the stands and wave to him cheerfully, making him the center of attention in the blink of an eye. Or when a younger student would stop by their table in the library- _their _table, Arthur would think with no small amount of glee- and shyly ask Alfred for help in any number of subjects; math, history, physics, chemistry, astronomy, mythology (oddly enough Alfred only ever seemed to struggle with English and geography). Arthur couldn't explain why he found it so attractive, to watch Alfred's eyes brighten behind his glasses as he brushed his bangs away and began to explain complicated concepts and theories in such a comfortable, relatable manner- but it made his stomach tighten in an unbearably pleasant way.

Even just the way Alfred would talk of his brother, and their giant dog, and their little apartment, and working two jobs on top of being a full-time student to put Matt through school, because he didn't want Matt to have to worry about money. It was heartbreaking as much as it was endearing, this hardworking and thoughtful boy that would emerge in the hushed, quiet hours in the library that were his and Arthur's alone.

Arthur was content, then, somewhat, to keep their friendship as it was; he didn't want to lose the boy, who was probably straight to begin with and the object of every girl's desire- and even if by some miracle Alfred _was _interested, it would be so selfish to take up more of the boy's precious time.

So, yes. Completely content. He tried to convince himself that, anyway.

The year rolled on, and they began to spend some time together outside school, too. Not every day- but days when classes were cut early, or the school was closed, or those extremely rare occassions when Alfred didn't have to go to work, they would get coffee or see a movie or eat somewhere; and despite their tastes in food and entertainment being on completely opposite ends of the spectrum, Alfred was so enthusiastic about what he loved, and open-minded about what Arthur did, that the British man found he didn't care in the slightest. And Alfred always looked sad when he had to go, but Arthur forced himself to chalk that up to Alfred's good-guy personality.

And then Valentine's Day hit; the most annoying day of the year. Thankfully it was on a Saturday, but the Friday before was torture. At school, Alfred kept getting accosted by girls (and a few brave guys, actually) with cards and chocolates; the surprise in his eyes was absolutely darling, and he would thank each of them cheerfully and slip the gift into his bag.

Arthur wanted him to refuse every single one, but he knew Alfred couldn't deny any of those hopeful, daring eyes. Arthur could though. The handful of girls who tried to present him with chocolates or cards were turned down gently and sent away.

"No chocolate, Artie?" Alfred looked surprised when he found him in the cafeteria, dropping his bag on the table and sliding into the chair across from him. "That's so lame! A good-lookin' guy like you? Nah, man, here." And he commenced rustling through his bag.

"I don't really care for sweets," Arthur said stiffly. "And those candies are for you."

"This one's not." With a wide grin that made Arthur's hearts do acrobatics, Alfred reached over to hand him a box of truffles. "Mattie made 'em, 'cause I'm completely hopeless in the kitchen. I decorated the box though!"

With a bunch of stars and little stick figure astronauts and- hearts. Arthur clutched it closer for a second before he realized what that probably looked like, then set it down and smiled, inwardly kicking himself. "I didn't realize you were handing out valentines today or I'd have something for you."

"Oh I'm not. Well I did but just that one." Alfred looked- _nervous_, almost."But I should've guessed you're the type not to like sweets, my bad, Art."

Good _Lord _how could one person be so lovely. "No, these are nice." He traced the ribbon with a fingertip and his smile softened before he could help it. "Thank you," he said and glanced up.

He almost crushed the box completely because Alfred was _blushing. _Blushing, and looking absolutely pleased with himself. Because Arthur had liked the gift? The _only _valentine Alfred had given all day?

So the next day, Arthur showed up at Alfred's apartment with a bouquet of roses and no small amount of determination. Matthew opened the door- and he'd never met Matthew before, but Alfred's brother was quite pretty; almost identical to Alfred, aside from the shade of his eyes and the length of his hair, but slimmer and with a more gentle face. He blinked for a moment, probably surprised to see this stranger on the doorstep with a bunch of flowers, England surmised, but then the surprise melted into something warm.

"You must be Arthur." Matthew's voice was slightly accented and soft, and matched the small smile on his face perfectly as he stepped back to let Arthur inside. "Al talks about you all the time."

Arthur's heart beat furiously as he stepped in and looked around, for the first time, at where Alfred F. Jones lived. It was quite a small apartment, but cozy and comfortable, a definite sense of home in all the nick-knacks and pictures, and a definite sense of family- even though it was just the two of them. Arthur eyes lingered on a picture by the door, one of them as children, Alfred's arm around Matthew's shoulders and Matthew's around Alfred's waist, grinning identically at the camera.

"Oh- don't mind Bear, he's just nosy." And Arthur's attention was immediately drawn to- what could not- _not- _have been a dog. It looked more like its namesake as it wandered in and sniffed Arthur's pants. Even Alfred's comical descriptions hadn't prepared Arthur for how massive the mutt was. Matthew shooed it away and it sat down instead with a soft woof, and Arthur could only stand there and wonder how the hell they kept something so huge inside. "So I take it you have some intention with my brother?"

"Ah- yes, as a matter of fact." The British man straightened out his shirt, mindful of the flowers. "I intend to date him, if he'll have me."

Matthew leaned against the wall, as if he'd seen that answer coming- and all things considered, he probably did. "We call ourselves twins, because it's easier than explaining we're three days apart and still almost identical. As much as it seems like it's the complete opposite, I'm the eldest." His eyes were sharp suddenly, as he stared right through Arthur. "Al's my little brother, and I'm not going to let him be hurt again. Don't think because he's an overgrown kid with a pretty face and absolute faith in people you can have your way with him. Isn't that right, Bear?"

The dog sat up a little straighter, almost as tall as Matthew, and Arthur cottoned on to the threat quickly enough. He scowled. "As much as I appreciate the sentiment, I wouldn't be here ready to make a fool out of myself with a forty dollar bouquet of roses I had to fight an old woman for, on a day as cliche as this, if I wasn't absolutely prepared to _beg _for Alfred to give me his precious time and his precious heart. I'm lucky just knowing him, lucky to have as much of him now as I do, and I'll be damned if I'm going to stand here and let you insinuate I'd ever do anything to hurt- "

He stopped when he saw Matthew smiling, and snapped, "What?"

"Art?"

Heart spasming painfully, he spun around and saw Alfred standing in the hallway, in rumpled pajamas with a stuffed- alien? under his arm, looking shocked to see him, and also as if he'd just woken up. "Art, what are you doing here? You fought an old lady? Why are you yelling at Matt?" Then his brow sort of furrowed. "Wait Matt you have that asshole expression on your face, what'd you do?"

"Alfred." Arthur beckoned to him and he came, curiosity overpowering the confusion in his eyes, as it always would. Arthur pressed the ridiculously large bouquet into his hands and watched as it slowly dawned on the American's face why exactly Arthur had come over, and smiled so beautifully Arthur thought he might die.

And the rest of the day was spent there at the twins' apartment, on the couch with Alfred tucked against his side and the roses in a vase next to a window. Alfred was talking about whatever movie was on, so so happy it was obvious even to Bear, who was wagging his tail and woofing occasionally along with Alfred's laughter. Arthur caught Matthew's eye over Alfred's head, and the older brother inclined his head with a smile as understanding passed between the two.

_I'll take care of him._


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: A little shorter this time.

* * *

Alfred wouldn't even look at him. It was enough to break his heart.

"Sweetheart," Arthur said quietly, couldn't raise his voice above a whisper even as he tried, because the world was falling apart all around him with every second the truth lay between them, exposed. "Alfred, please. Please just- would you look at me?"

The boy shook his head fervently, fingers clenched in his shirt, around himself. Arthur thought he might cry. "Why not?"

"You're mad at me." The American's voice was soft and accusatory, limping out behind guarded lips. And then, because the poor dear couldn't help himself, Arthur was allowed a brief glimpse of impossible blue seeking assurance. "Aren't you?"

Arthur was quick to provide it. "Oh, darling, of course not." This time when he nudged Alfred's face back up the boy allowed it, blinking up at him warily and still hopefully, with his arms folded in front of him- in front of his stomach- like an iron gate. "I'm not angry with you, I'm just- I worry about you as it is, you work so hard and you're in every club at school I can think of- and now you're not _eating, _poppet, please- "

Alfred pushed forward, burying his face somewhere between Arthur's shoulder and his neck, arms curling around the Briton's waist; and the tenseness of his back and arms and the suspicious silence as he pressed even closer was all it took for Arthur to understand he was crying.

So he gathered him close and tight and sort of rocked him where they stood in the hallway, steam still curling out of the bathroom, dinner getting cold.

He would fix this.

He managed to coax Alfred to the table and sit him down, kneeling next to him and resting a hand on his knee. "Please try to eat something, love." It was healthy and still tasty enough for his boistrous lover, but Alfred shook his head tightly and opened his mouth- but Arthur wasn't ready for another excuse, he didn't want to hear that. So he leaned closer and kissed Alfred's cheek, stopping him short. "I made it for you, dear. Won't you at least try it?"

And before everything else- before _everything- _Alfred was such a kind person. His mouth clicked shut, and he seemed to struggle for only a moment, before giving in with grace and a tilt to his lips that might to some degree have been a smile.

"Of course, Art."

But three bites in and his face paled; he clamped a hand over his mouth and tore himself from the table, rushing for the bathroom.

Arthur allowed himself a moment of despair, dropping his face into his palms and pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes to prevent any tears. Because sure enough, he found when he pushed open the bathroom door, Alfred was sobbing in that utterly silent, broken way, from where he was kneeled in front of the toilet, tears running down his face messily and shoulders shaking.

Arthur wet a towel in the sink quietly and went to his side, slipping an arm around his shoulders and cleaning his face gently. He didn't know what to _do, _he had no idea what kind of help Alfred needed, but as his lovely, lovely boy turned to him, reached for him, it didn't matter.

_Whatever you need, you'll have it, _he vowed silently, pulling Alfred into his arms. _I'm going to take care of you. _

It took him a moment to realize Alfred was murmuring something into his shoulder; took a moment longer to distinguish the words as _"I'm sorry," _over and over and over again.

Arthur kissed his damp face, every inch of it, and gathered him, helping him to stand in the circle of Arthur's arms and led him to bed. Alfred, as usual, curled into Arthur immediately, and the man was _overcome._

What could have made Alfred think it was necessary to deny himself food? Had something happened, was something hurtful said? But why hadn't he come to Arthur, why hadn't he mentioned something was wrong, Arthur had thought they were both happy, with each other and the world and life in general.

Alfred worked hard, but he was well-liked by everyone, and despite being an orphan he had a loving family of one at home, and he had _Arthur, _and Arthur _knew _Alfred loved him, needed him, as much as he needed fresh air and sunshine, as much as Arthur needed him in turn.

So- _why?_

_Why, why, why?_

It was the one question- the one word- that plagued him through the night, long after Alfred and the world outside the window fell asleep.

* * *

He didn't bother making breakfast in the morning, but when Alfred wandered out of the bedroom, looking a little lost and confused- he was usually not the last to wake up- and joined Arthur in the kitchen, Arthur pressed a mug of coffee into his hands.

"I'd rather you didn't go to work today," he said quietly, and Alfred set the cup down, eyebrows coming together above electric blue.

"Did you sleep at all?"

Arthur snorted. "Couldn't get a wink." His bitterness softened considerably when Alfred ran gentle fingers over his cheeks, under his eyes where Arthur was sure there were dark rings, like bruises.

"Art... Art, I'm..." He looked tormented, letting his hand fall. "I- didn't want you to find out like that, I'm so- "

"I want you to be sorry for the right reason," Arthur muttered. "I don't want you to apologize for hurting me and me alone, as if it's okay to continue hurting yourself."

If Arthur had struck him physically, Alfred's expression would have been the same. "I'm not- I'm not _happy _about it Arthur, I- I hate not being able to look at a fucking burger without wanting to hurl, it- I'm so hungry and aching all the time, I feel dizzy and nauseous when I eat or when I don't eat, and I- I hurt, all the time, Artie, how could I be _happy _about this?"

He looked near tears, but angrily so, and Arthur reached out to him, cupping his face and stroking his cheek with his thumb, shushing him softly, heart aching after such a raw admission of pain from such a strong, beautiful, _dear_ person. He was too tired for an argument, and worried bone-deep, as if the overwhelming concern had always been a part of him. "Okay, love, I'm sorry. I'm sorry," he said again, when Alfred still looked sad and stubborn. "But if you understand- will you let me help you? Please? And you need to tell Matthew."

Alfred shuddered and nodded miserably, finally relenting; and leaning in, if only slightly, against Arthur's hand. "If you're there with me."

"Good lad," the man whispered, and began to have hope.


End file.
